confabulate
by gryffindormischief
Summary: Uber as a dating service; who knew?


A/N: inspired by a tweet 10 of 12 of my 12 days of AU - slightly delayed but here and fluffy and silly...hope you like. Merry Merry.

* * *

He doesn't _mean _to get completely pissed at Neville's 'Officially Recipient of a Niche Doctorate' party but there are all these botanical themed cocktails and none of it really tastes alcoholic and they're all so _happy_. Because really, reaching a doctorate in some sort of highly specialized area of botany that Harry can't even remember should _not _take upwards of ten years but it _did _and Neville's such a stand up bloke it's disgusting.

Regardless of intent, Harry's a responsible adult and isn't _so _drunk he forgets how to call an Uber or keep all food and beverage inside where it belongs. Which is good because he really doesn't want to pay the 'you're gross' penalty on his ride. Or have to live knowing he created a situation where a non medical professional had to deal with his bodily fluids and other excrement.

He _is _drunk enough that most of the trip is vague impressions.

A cheeky laugh, a brief moment where he thinks his driver is on fire (turns out it's hair), and a TMI moment about his intense attraction to cartoon Anastasia.

It doesn't take long to get home - Harry lucked out that Neville's favorite haunt (favored mostly because Hannah Abbott _owns_ the little hole in the wall) is close by his flat and he's home by just past two in the morning.

He has just enough presence of mind to lock his front door, strip his shoes and coat off, and send Neville a text that he got home safe. Because Neville is a mother hen and it's best if Harry's dad thinks he got in hours ago and simply forgot. A truth he'd learned the hard way after the fallout of a four in the morning drunk text after his last final of his first year at uni.

His ears are _still _ringing and mum says he gets one less Christmas gift every year to make up for the emotional distress of the twelve hours where Harry got to sleep off his hangover and she was subjected to James Potter Ultimate Mother Hen live and in high definition.

He doesn't wake up until the sun's fully risen, warming him to a sweaty degree while his phone rings obnoxiously from the foot of his bed.

Harry fumbles into a sitting position and only manages to find his mobile once the call's gone to voicemail.

Bleary eyed, Harry finds his glasses on the nightstand and clumsily pushes them onto his face with the expected fingerprints.

The phone is down to seven percent, alerting him that low power mode can only take him so far, and he really feels unnecessary judgment in the allegedly helpful message. His battery isn't _only _dead after a night spent carousing with Nev and the rest.

Plus he's fairly certain 'carousing' doesn't really apply if the main activities were badly done 90's karaoke, shared pitchers of beer, and trying to teach Seamus the foxtrot.

Which would be odd enough if Harry actually _knew _how to foxtrot.

With a groan, Harry wriggles his jeans off and flops back on the bed and catches up on his phone as it charges.

Mindlessly, he swipes away notifications from various social media apps that are likely filled with blurry photos and temporary proof of Harry's attempts at doing justice to 'Oops I Did It Again.'

He did not.

Really his messages app is the most important, mostly to make sure Neville received his message and text dad that yes he did get home and something vague about passing out as soon as he got there. Which is true, just leaves out the whole 'I got home well after three and was more than a wee bit drunk so I daydreamed about Anastasia in my Uber' addition.

It's for the best, really.

He shoots Neville a quick 'I hate you' in response to his toothy selfie with Hannah at brunch and flicks through his other waiting messages.

_+44 7700 900258: Hi. Just for my peace of mind can you lmk ur not dead_

_+44 7700 900258: this is your uber btw_

_+44 7700 900258: the driver_

_+44 7700 900258: not the car_

_+44 7700 900258: hoping you have unlimited text and arent gonna take back ur tip_

Harry laughs, then winces and grabs his pounding head. Once it calms to dull thuds, his grin returns and Harry responds.

_Harry: not to worry on any count. _

_Harry: Had to get unlimited because i'm a serial double texter_

_Harry: as you can see_

_Harry: and relate _

_Harry: also i'm alive. Barely_

_+44 7700 900258: Good to hear_

_+44 7700 900258: I worried when you got quiet halfway through ur solo rendition of learn to do it_

_Harry: I never cared for stroganoff_

While the little typing bubble pulses, Harry returns to his Uber app and only feels like half a creep when he taps his most recent ride and studies the little image - grinning face, fire for hair - and then finds her name - Ginny W. - and adds her number to his phone.

Hell, it's the holiday season, he's slightly hungover, and feeling a bit hopeful. Sue him.

_Ginny: you kinda passed out after most of all remember this_

_Ginny: I've been in suspense all day_

_Ginny: barely slept_

_Ginny: which is good since i was shuttling people to and from the airport all night_

_Harry: LOL glad to be of assistance_

_Harry: in case you forgot_

_Harry: remember if they can learn to do it, she can learn to do it_

_Harry: also it's barely noon why are you even awake_

_Ginny: could ask you the same_

_Harry: forgot to close the blinds_

_Ginny: one of those_

_Ginny: I'm thinking of heading out for some brunch_

_Ginny: if you need a ride and can love another after Anya_

_Harry: name the time :)_


End file.
